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Another plea for a hero … support for Sgt. 1st Class Taylor starts with us.

Posted on June 26, 2012 by | 2 Comments

First things first, thanks for reading. The last 24 hours have seen more traffic here than any other period in this blogs short history. More as in thousands more. Thanks for the hits, thanks for the shares and thanks for giving. Sadly that’s where we’ve come up short badly. Today his fund has almost double yesterday’s amount but it’s still far, far short of it’s goal.

We’re talking of course about Sgt. 1st Class Walter Taylor’s legal defense fund and efforts that are underway to help him raise $35,000.

This update is all about how you can donate (hint: that’s the link) and why you should donate. There will be, sadly, none of this blogs usual shenanigans – Taylor’s situation is far too dire for jokes. I mean that, its tough for me to say, I think almost anything can be a joke. Not this time though …

The good news is that even if you live overseas and have an APO mailing address you can STILL donate. In the address line where it asks for your city type in APO AE and in the line where they ask for your state, select New York and viola, donate away!

Pretty painless really, easier than purchasing on Amazon or iTunes so please, I beg you, head there now and donate whatever you can. Also again, repost this on Facebook and twitter and where ever else you find an audience because as you know or will soon know the recipient of this money is an American hero.

Why should you donate?

In an effort to fight out what appears to be politically motivated criminal charges SFC Taylor, wisely, hired a civilian attorney. Rather than risk it with a U.S. Army appointed defense lawyer, who may or may not be up to the job, SFC Taylor in an effort to save himself, his family and his career sought out and employed a civilian attorney well versed in military law.

This is an excellent move because, as you know, he did nothing wrong on July 21, 2011.

SFC Taylor, a combat engineer, and his platoon, set out on a road-clearing patrol that day to ensure that the roads in his area of operation were free of roadside bombs. They literally went out looking for bombs that day and every other day during their tour of duty. It was their job. They found the largest roadside bomb any of them had ever had the misfortune of encountering. Seconds after the devastating blast they were engaged by small-arms fire and during the course of that fire fight a black sedan, unbelievably, drove into the middle of it all. To the seasoned vets of his platoon this alone warranted serious suspicion that the vehicle’s occupants were enemy forces. Civilian vehicles just don’t drive into an ongoing fire fight.

This bizarre twist of events, coupled with the fact that during the ‘fog of battle’ several members of the platoon reported seeing shots coming from the sedan led to some of the platoon’s vehicle mounted heavy weapons engaging the vehicle.

After the firefight Taylor and three other members of the platoon followed a wire that had been used to detonate the road-side bomb – insanely the wire seemed to lead directly to the now silent black sedan.

SFC Taylor’s Platoon leader, just moments before he started following the wire, warned him that there were reports of insurgents using vehicles as bombs. The black sedan, he and everyone else thought, was obviously another bomb intent on taking his life and the life of his men.

As he followed the wire he came as close as 10 to 25 meters from the vehicle something else inexplicable happened. A figure dressed in black exited the vehicle from the rear-passenger door and ran toward the vehicle’s trunk. Reports differ but, by all estimates, Taylor has between 3 and 10 seconds to make a decision. Was the person friend or foe?

Think about that … 3 to 10 seconds. I imagine it’s something akin to this:

1 second: The door flies open.

2 seconds: A foot emerges from the door

3 seconds: A person’s lower torso emerges

4 seconds: The person is out of the vehicle, facing you and they are covered in black

5 seconds: The person begins in your direction and toward the trunk of the car

6 seconds …

You get the idea. Fearing for his life and more importantly fearing for the lives of his Soldiers Taylor shot and killed the cloaked figure only to discover, to his horror, he’d killed an innocent person. That in and of itself is more punishment they he deserves. It’s very unfortunate that it occurred but that it occurred is neither criminal nor careless – protecting yourself and your platoon from what would to any sane mind appear to be a suicide bomber is clearly the correct thing to do.

Here’s that link again, just in case you missed it. Any little bit, $5, $20 whatever amount you feel comfortable giving will help. If it’s $30 or more they’ll send you a bumber sticker that says I support SFC Taylor, how cool is that?

This isn’t going to be the last update as you can likely guess but I hope it’s the one that pushes his defense fund over the $10,000 mark. Finally, post this, reblog this, link this far and wide.

One final thing, I feel like I need to add a disclaimer. While I am retired from the U.S. Army and am currently employed as a Department of the Army Civilian the words here and my urging you to donate in no way reflect an official position by anyone or any entity besides me. This blog, and the updates regarding this case, are my opinion and should by no means be construed as endorsment by the U.S. Army or the U.S. government.

You know just in case you were wondering.

Thanks.

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I got nothing so, ‘Condoleezza Rice’ is hot is the best I can do ….

Posted on May 8, 2012 by | 13 Comments

Because I can’t think of a damned thing that is funny to write about I’m going to write about not having anything to write about.   

These are my conversations with myself when I’m thinking about what to write here when I have no clear ideas.

Internal dialog starts now …

Damn it when you started this you said you were going to post something every other day yet you haven’t posted anything in like 18 years.

Chill out, the blogs only a few months old, you’re still finding your ‘focus.’

What the fuck is a focus?   I mean really it’s a retarded blog that mentions drinking beer in the very title.   It’s in the domain name for Christ’s sake, just post any goddamn retarded thing.  The name is www.hadafewbeers.com it’s right there in the address.   Just post “I like boobs.”   Post it over and over again ala Jack in the Shining but you know, with more boobs.

Okay I’d laugh at that but I’m not sure many other people would.  

Okay, okay then what about that time the dishwasher broke and some of your Facebook friends chastised you for using a dishwasher when only two people live in the house?   That could be funny.

Okay that’s kind of a funny but it’s a quick joke.  It’s like, “What are you nondishwasher people, Amish?”  That sort of thing is all the joke is.   There are a few jokes in there about giving the car up for a horse and buggy and … gah it’s not a very long post if I do that.

See that’s the point.   Every blog you like has a lot of short posts.   They’re all quick, witty, fun and short reads.  Do more updates like that.   “Sweet Mother” and “Oh God my wife is German” are two blogs you read a lot and they never post three page diatribes of profanity, boob references and ill-informed opinion on the catholic church (although either might do a boob reference piece tomorrow and how cool would that be?) 

Make this shit shorter, shorter is better.

Blah, write it the way you want to.  If it takes up three pages in a MS word document for you to ramble on about hookers, boobs and beer, that’s not a bad thing.

Okay then but about WHAT?

How about something silly Dagmar does.  You can play the fool and she can be the wise woman but it’ll be funny.   Those work great for Facebook because they’re short and simple though.  Dagmar says something, I say something, Dagmar calls you XYZ and a comment war starts out among your friends.

I might as well write a blog update that boils down to wives smart, husbands dumb.

Okay so then what?

What about politics.   You love politics.   Half of your iPhone’s podcasts are politics.  You read like 80 million political news sources a day … do one on politics.   Really.   You once had an entire conversation with yourself about whether or not you could actually force yourself to masturbate only to images of Andrea Markel*.   I think you concluded that ‘yes you could’.   See that’s kind of funny …

I did one on politics, two I think … both, together, were read by like eight people half of whom where spammers.  How many more Viagra comments do you want or need?  None.

Okay so what was popular?   Which updates had a good number of ‘hits’.   That’s easy, ‘Merican F’ yeah, Things you didn’t know about the military until you get out of the military and anything dealing with German/European Saunas.

Go with those no?

Yes but.  I have ideas for more of each of those (okay not another ‘Merica F’ yeah cause well I don’t live in America anymore so it’s kind of tough at the moment) but refine them.   Remember how much ‘Merica F’ yeah part two sort of sucked.   Yeah refine the ideas dumbass.   Turn down the flame on the idea and let it cook.   Besides the military one you’re close to finishing …

So you have nothing, is that what you’re saying?

It is.

Does that mean this one is the next update?

I just typed it didn’t I?

* I feel this needs explanation.  Once upon a time Dagmar told me that Henry Kissingerwas sexy.   A proclamation that I

Call me!

reacted too by asking, “WHAT THE FUCK?”  She explained thusly, he’s very smart, very powerful and to hell with what he looks like.   That I understood.  It led to many, too many, what if scenarios in my head though.   Hillary Clinton is kind of hot.   There I said it.  If by some odd chance Condoleezza Rice is reading this call me, please.    I’ll cash in one of Dagmar and my ‘get out of jail cards!’  Really I will.

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Suicide or Ikea, Suicide or Ikea, Suicide or Ikea … crap, it’s Ikea

Posted on May 2, 2012 by | 6 Comments

I have some bad news friends.  

I’m going to have to kill myself before Saturday.   Okay maybe kill myself is a bit strong but I’m talking totally believable suicidal gestures.   You know the kind, I’ll eat a bottle of Flintstone vitamins and post a suicide note here, or I’ll cut my wrists with a dull butter knife (but it’ll totally hurt) while listening to whatever Goth song is currently number one on iTunes or I’ll …

Okay never mind I’m not going to kill myself before Saturday but at some point this Saturday I’ll wish I had.

The first hint that I was about to be forced into doing something I consider equal to a colonoscopy on the ‘scale of fun’ came yesterday morning when Dagmar noted she hated the curtains in the guest bedroom.

We’ve been married a while.   I knew what this meant.  It didn’t mean she’d go find new ones more on her lunch

Ikea, we destory men's souls

Ikea, we destory men's souls

break.   It didn’t mean she’d surf the web looking for the type and color she wanted.   No it meant something more ominous, something darker.  It meant I was going, with her, to Ikea.

I did the math in my head and quickly guessed that there was five percent chance that I could get out of going with her and a 95% chance I would be craving the sweet sweet kiss of death at about one p.m. this Saturday afternoon.

I did the smart thing, I kept my mouth shut and simply muttered something like “I like them but if you want new ones okay.”

It was ‘May Day’ a holiday for labors across the world (except for us non-commie ‘Mericans) and spring has sprung here in Europe.   Point is what should have been a quick (no traffic) and pleasant drive on a fine spring morning was ruined.   

My mind raced with thought about how to get out of the dreadful Ikea experience.

As I said Spring has sprung here in Deutchland.   The sun is out, there are bee’s in the flowers we planted last weekend and Dagmar has that insane’ let’s rip the house apart in a maniacal desire to remove the dirt’ look in her eye.

I get spring cleaning, I do.  It makes sense and while I’m not a fan of it (check my Facebook ‘likes’ I’m not) I understand it and don’t enjoy living in filth anymore than anyone does.   I’ll participate, if given detailed instructions I might even do the chore slightly better than ‘halfassed’.   I’m a man though I’m best turned loose in the garage with ‘clean this crap up’ as guidance.

But this, this Ikea trip, I did not see coming.   We’ve been in this house a few years, Ikea trips are what you do when you move in … this one was out of the left field.

I had to see Dagmar right before a meeting I had yesterday afternoon.   That’s when she dropped the bomb officially while we were discussing what we were going to do that weekend.    “We’re”.  Crap she used the word we’re (death sentence right at the sentence’s start.  “We’re going to Ikea.”   

I now calculated my chances of getting out of this at less than one percent.  Newt Gingrich’s moon colony and presidential nomination are more likely.  

I did what any other trapped animal does in this situation, I panicked.   I think I even started to gnaw off my own legs.

“I was going to hang that picture in the living room like you wanted,” I volunteered before realizing that would take about 15 minutes if I took a smoke break in the middle.  I needed something of substance.   I seriously considered ordering a hot tub from my iPhone (which how cool is that, we can do that today) with a hopeful Saturday delivery date.   I considered enrolling in one more college courses right that minute so that you know, “the weekends are when I study honey”.  

I had nothing, in fact I had added to my misery.   I was going to clean the garage I said which was met with, you ARE going to clean the garage but you’re still going to Ikea.

I know, I screwed that up royally.

If you’re a guy reading this you know exactly what I mean.   If you’re a girl reading this you’re saying what is the big deal it’s just a trip to a store.  

I’m going to break it down for you ladies …

We’ve seen this movie a thousand times before.  It’s a good movie to be sure and when we first watched it we loved it, but now we know that it’s the same movie.   The purchases change but the lead up the purchase is exactly the same, every time.

Every man, ever, eventually turns over these kinds of purchases to his wife, significant other, long time girlfriend whatever.   We do and we do it because you’re right and we have long ago conceded that.  When we turned those decisions over to you ladies, our input, in our minds at least, became irrelevant.   It’s not that we don’t care about the curtains in the guest bedroom it’s that we’ve learned from long and hard experience that you’re smarter about what shade of, insert trendy color here, goes with, other trendy color here, better than we do.

Thus we don’t care anymore.   If our opinion is generally, and I admit it is, wrong we stop caring about giving it.  

We’re just there as a cheer leader toward whatever side you seem to be leaning toward during the decision regarding what kind of throw pillow you should buy.  Mentally we’re going “well she seems to like that one at the moment, encourage that one.”  It becomes all about hurrying the process along so we can leave the goddamn aisle and maybe someday, before we’re old and senile, check out, go home and drink beer.

I’m pretty sure you can trace all this back to evolution or at least the study of primitive hunter-gather societies.  Studies have shown the gathers, typically woman, worked a whole lot harder than the men’s hunter role.    While women were out debating which berry was yummy and which berry would turn you into a dead person men were at the village wondering if they could ferment rocks to make booze and drawing crude stick figure porn in nearby caves.   

But when word came that the elk, buffalo, whatever herd was near the hunters of the tribe “saddled up and rode” bitches!    Meaning I can go to Ikea alongside Dagmar (and yes this is basically the same as the vacuum analogy) but I’m going to dart in, find the curtain that comes closest to the one you described to me and then get out.

You women though are going there to gather.   “Oh that shiny thing would be great in the hallway” and “Oh that would be fun to put in the bathroom” and “My cousin (twice removed and never met in person) would love this,” will be uttered countless times and the dreadful question, “what do you think” will be asked.  I’ll try to process the question but the “you’re not right, she is” gene will kick in and I’ll again boil it down to I don’t care at all.

Ikea is the worst of all the shopping trips.    The store is designed like one of those rat and cheese mazes making the possibility that even after we finally move forward three feet after an agonizing 30 minutes of looking at a

There is only one way in and one way out ...

There is only one way in and one way out ...

picture frame we’ll stop again to see which vanity set for the bathroom would look ‘cute’.    The Ikea here even has a small restaurant/bar thingy in the middle of it (I think for asshole husbands like me) but I can’t even work up enthusiasm for it because there’s BEER at the goddamned house.

I even asked for suggestions on how to get out of this on facebook but honestly that compounded my misery is all as Adrian Schulte reminded me that Saturday Ikea trips were worse than ALL OTHER Ikea trips.   Cameron Christianson alluded to the mythical shortcut through the store but this kind of exploration isn’t authorized during our trips and Jerry O’Hara suggests a badly timed “gas” incident that just might work but in the end I resigned myself. 

I’m going to Ikea.

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Part 3: Naked in mixed company German sauna reborn … erections and gayness

Posted on April 9, 2012 by | 2 Comments

I had hoped this was going to be the third and final German sauna story but I think there’s going to be a fourth. 

Yeah, there’s going to be a fourth.  Besides being (99% of the time) a great relaxing day they can be (1% of the time) hysterical … to me, and hopefully to you.

While I’ve had some rocking days here at Hadafewbeers.com (thanks for all the Facebook shares by the way) where there were TONS of daily hits … the series about being naked in a German sauna still gets a lot of hits every damn day.   While ‘Merica, F’yah generated a lot of hits the sauna stories continually get hits albeit in smaller numbers .   On days, hell weeks, I don’t post … in the search terms that word press provides on the stats page, German sauna is still the strongest, all around, hit generator. 

Which leads me to believe there’s a lot of perverts reading this, awesome.

The other two sauna stories for those that missed them are located here (part one) and here (part two).

Last time I posted on the topic I promised the following in this update.

Gay man hits on me in the sauna and the same gay man hits on me later story follow up.

What happens exactly when the whole place goes nude.

Three erections

Yes, Dagmar, okay I was looking at those girls cause they were hot

The Pee-Pee Patrol

Exhibitionist girl

Sailor man’s penis

We’ll get to the first three this time and the last four next time … I’ll even add in a bonus, what happens when you meet a fellow American at the sauna.

Finally Dagmar and I have gone to the sauna I’m betting a few hundred times and these are the exception not the rule to the place.    If you’re ever in Europe and thinking of hitting a traditional European sauna nothing like this will happen to you, but if it does tell me all about it.

So here we go.

Gay man hits on me in the sauna and the same gay man hits on me later story follow-up.

This is the funniest trip to the sauna and also it’s the one that makes Dagmar cry with laughter whenever it comes up in conversation.  Gay men have from time to time, since I was like 13 or some shit, hit on me.   Dagmar finds every single instance extremely funny and I hate her for it.

Fuck you Dagmar it’s NOT funny!  

Okay it’s pretty funny.

Did I mentioned crowded, the sauna's are crowded.

As I think I explained in a previous post at most big sauna’s there are sauna meisters and they, every hour or at the really big ones every half hour, run a special sauna where you rub honey on your naked flesh, rub salt on your naked flesh or for all I know somewhere in northern Germany there is a ‘smack yourself in the face with a dead fish’ sauna.  Point is there are special saunas, you have to get there early because they get VERY, in a way that capital letters cannot convey, crowded. 

By the time the sauna doors are closed you are packed in like sardines, naked sardines and I don’t know of any other kind.   Literally you are squeezed into your space on the sauna bleachers desperately trying not to make skin to skin contact with anyone you aren’t married to.

So this particular sauna was a salt sauna, where you sweat your balls off and then rub salt all over your skin because according to Germany evolution didn’t allow us to shed dead skin cells effectively enough and we need the help of salt.  Alternatively my skin feels really smooth and soft after this particular sauna which is why dudes think I’m gay a lot.   It’s a lose, lose situation … point is I like the salt sauna.

‘Get to the fucking point’ I can hear you all saying and ‘FUCK you’ is my reply.  You get hit on by a gay man while you’re nude with your WIFE LITERALLY glued to your side and then YOU talk about it in a humorous manner.

Okay so during the salt sauna, when you’re rigorously rubbing rock salt all over your body you, and I’m sure you figured it out, can’t do your back.  That’s okay though I have Dagmar to do mine and I do hers. 

Then it happened. 

I speak enough German to order a beer and to prove I don’t speak German.  What I mean is, I don’t speak German.    

The man next to me wanted me to rub the rock salt on his back.   I was naïve enough to, at the time, rationalize this in my

See the guy in the center, the one with the clothes, yeah that the's sauna meister.

head.   There are, I assume, plenty of gay saunas in Germany … anyone that was looking for gay sex would never come to these huge, mixed gender saunas looking for gay sex.  To this point in my, I guess then 3 years in Germany, I knew the Germans to be fanatical rule followers and I honestly assumed this was another German dedicated to the health benefits of the sauna.  

Still though there was the twinkle in his eye.  Never ignore a fucking twinkle folks, never.

I rubbed that salt into his back with the vigor of a German.  “Do a good job,” I told myself.  Work that upper back, scrub the middle back and damn it son don’t skimp on the salt, use some of yours if you have too. 

I introduce him to Dagmar shortly thereafter because even I, with the gay radar of a dead raccoon, am starting to get it.   I believe he told Dagmar at this point, “You are married to a beautiful man”.

Okay fuck …

Dagmar laughing her exposed boobs off the entire time.  

The sauna ends and I think nothing of this episode, other than glad that’s over.   She and I exit and shower.  She now has wonderfully smooth skin.  I now have wonderfully smooth skin and a wife that is in hysterics laughing at me. 

Outside of the main sauna area there are, in the summer time, numerous lounge chairs.  I mean we all love a cancerous tan right?  I do …

As Dagmar and I sunned ourselves, au natural, mister “you are a beautiful man” came back.  To again assure Dagmar that she was still married to a beautiful man.

Seriously.

What happens exactly when the whole place goes nude.

What happens when the whole place goes nude is the best, if only, transition to three erections.   It’s also telling me this is a four or five part update, not just a three part. 

Remember that as soon as the Sauna opens until it closes, most days, there is a clothed part that consists of fun slides, wave pools, mineral baths and then there is the nude side that has, in addition to the sauna’s a large heated pool and a few other things like a massage  area and a bar.   These are separated by an imaginary line on the floor.  Beyond that line everyone is naked, except when they are not.  Which is usually.   Outside of the sauna or the pool most everyone wears a towel or a robe.

Yeah there’s always some naked dude or 80-year-old woman that’s just said, “fuck it, no one is checking me out anyway,” but generally, everyone wears something.

This, obviously, was not after 7 p.m. on a Saturday. It is however the place we go to.

At approximately 6:55 p.m. though, on the clothed side there’s an announcement over the intercom that I think says “hey clothed people the naked weirdos are about to come over to the clothed side of the place so flee if you want to,” or something like that.   And then it just sort of happens, some people leave, some strip, others stray in from the sauna side and by 7:15 it’s a done deal. 

Not that exciting except it leads directly to three erections which, I at least, found hysterical.

Again even after 7 p.m. most of the people who are still there remain wrapped in a towel or robe when not swimming or laying in the sun (in the summer it stay light here until almost 10 p.m.).  

Most people.

Three erections

I don’t remember what time of the evening it was but it was just after the whole place went nude.  While having a cigarette (outdoors – near the snack bar) during one of our trips I noticed three 15 or 16-year-old males seated at a small circular table yelling at each other and apparently masturbating.   Yeah, masturbating …

Now before you close your browser and draft an email where you call me gay and/or a disgusting liar hear me out.  The three were seated at the table in such a way that they couldn’t see what the other was doing, though it was painfully obvious and the fact that they were yelling at each other made it a train wreck that I could not turn away from.   

I should have stamped my cigarette out, fled the German sauna world forever and immediately entered therapy but I was baffled and wanted to see what the fuck they were going to do.  

Besides the obvious I mean.  

And the yelling?  It seemed like encouragement but I have no clue what they were saying because again I don’t speak German but who the HELL encourages their other friends while they are … I know, I know get to the point.

What these three adolescent masterminds had in mind was this.   At a certain point in the, literal mind you, circle jerk they stood up, boner all a-poppin and marched directly through main area in what I guess was an attempt to scandalize the masses and or get a ‘rise’ out of my gay friend in the salt sauna.   Prank wise I think it’s a 4 out of ten.   Balls though?  You bet.

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More facebook updates that piss me off

Posted on March 1, 2012 by | Leave a comment

If that dog so much as blinks, I’m snagging that umbrella

Okay bullcrap.  If he valued his damned umbrella so much he’d HAVE IT OVER HIMSELF.

Dear homeless man, here’s some help climbing aboard the clue train.  First stop, why animals have fur and why humans invented umbrellas.   See in the wild, dogs (wolves) get wet everyday! They have this hair ALL over them that protects them and makes it OKAY.   We, long ago, discovered that getting wet sucks because we don’t have hair all over us (well most of us don’t) and some goddamn genius invented the umbrella to protect us from the rain so that we don’t get sick and/or have bad hair.  Besides I bet you could get like $10 for that umbrella on a day like that and $10 would buy beer.  Then you, and the dog, will still be wet but you won’t care (and the dog never cared) because you’ll have beer.

You gave a shit enough to make this fucking sign though …

Again pure, distilled and fermented bull.   You know who else didn’t give a shit, the guy in the photo up above and look at his situation.   He’ll likely be trading sexual favors for drugs later on tonight but he doesn’t give a shit.   Life is a thousand times harder when you don’t give a shit and a thousand times easier when you DO give a shit.  You know who gives a shit?  Bill fucking Gates gives a shit and that man that asked you for spare change last Friday so he could get drunk buy food doesn’t give a shit (except about getting drunk).  Which of those two people has a better life …  I know, I know the drunk guy.  Fuck you.

You see everquest was SO much better because …

Don’t you think your little Facebook game has gone off the deep end when the bounty of someone is LARGER than the GDP of THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD?!?!?!   What the hell did Hobo Ella even do that every nation in the world is ready to collapse their own economy just so you would FINALLY kill her.  Besides if she’s worth that much isn’t about damned time she changed her name from Hobo Ella to SUPERFUCKINGRICHANDAWESOME Ella?  I’m thinking if we’re nice to her she might get that moon base that Newt Gingrich has been talking about off the ground.  And what the hell are YOU going to do with all that money besides crash the world’s economy I mean.  Don’t get me started on you Farmville people.  Don’t you all know that Facebook is for seeing if your ex got fat and for spying on your kids … Jesus.

purple, the color of elves and shit, also purple. Bonus point, nice boobs.

If you ever posted this to your Facebook feed and are A: older than 17 or B: heterosexual and male contact me immediately.  I wish to study you.

Snarking on Jesus is funny … he told me so.

I don’t even know where to start with this one.   Mostly they have a tag that says, “will you let him in?”  Hell yes I would, he can even have the last beer if he wants it but SO WHAT.  He’s GOD.   Dude walked on water, turned water into wine and did a bunch of other crap why does he need me to let him in.   Can’t he just ‘jesus’ his way into the house?   I’m trying to watch Simpson’s reruns.  Posts like this are the reason there are fights on numerous message boards across the net.  This is the very reason that every internet fight devolves into someone being compared to Hitler.   If you post this in your feed you’re the reason that someone had to start a POE wiki … Also he is God can’t he modernize his clothes?

Men scan this, looking for boob references …

I promise you no man read the entire thing up above.   I didn’t even read it and I cared enough to copy it out of Facebook, uploaded it here and am about to write a (grammatically incorrect and largely incoherent) paragraph about it.   Ladies, because let’s be honest only ladies post this crap, men never read this shit.  That long ass card you got us for our anniversary or birthday or national boob appreciation day, we didn’t read that one either.     We don’t.   We stare at it constantly asking ourselves if we can stop pretending we’re reading it yet.  Generally we take some sentence in the middle and read it just in case you ask a question.   Her, “Didn’t you just love the part about beaches?” she’ll ask.   We’re just going to spout off the random crap we DID actually read back to you so you THINK we read it.   “Sure did honey but I really found the part about love being a never ending circle like our rings very special.”   It’s total shit I know but we’re all just hoping for blow jobs with minimal effort.  Amiright?

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Army Guys vs. dinosaurs on Rick’s BMW hood requests … old movies, crappy movies, and lasers!

Posted on February 5, 2012 by | 6 Comments

I’ve got to be honest, you people piss me off.

I thought for sure you would all pick historical battles, really cool movie battles or maybe even something with a nautical theme … the background was blue after all.

But no.

You picked foody stuff, a really bad 70s movie and movies that require I learn something about Photoshop. Thus, Mike Lavigne, Anna Whateveryourlastnameis and Bob Close I give you your wishes:

We're fat. Evidence? Sixteen year olds, when I was a sixteen year old I masturbated to food sex. Yeah we're fat. Also there was no internet back then damnit!

Foody stuff:

Anne wanted a steamy scene from the 80′s flick, “Nine and a half weeks”, which I watched on HBO when I was like 16 and TOTALLY and had a reaction you would expect from a 16 year old male, basically that Michelle Pfeiffer was really, really pretty. Had you known me, even at the age of 20, Anne I would have assured you that Michelle Pfeiffer was A: a total babe, B: she was totally hot and that C: I really thought she was good looking.

I’m not kidding, I had some sort of post card that had an image from the flick in my wall locker at the Defense Information School. Michelle Pfeiffer was serious Anne.

Anne I like you, honestly I do. But there is only so much you can do with plastic dinosaurs and Army dudes …. there is even less you can do when the idea is a sex scene. Also its Army guys VERSES Dinosaurs not Army guys love dinosaurs Anne … geeze.

The T-Rex is totally eating Army Guys face off, but in a good way ...

Look I tried. I didn’t try very hard mind you but I tried. Take comfort in the fact that yes there is a real strawberry, leaking acidic juice, on Rick’s BMW hood.

this was totally not a gay thing ... male Army Guy and a chick dinosaur

Bad movies with uncomfortable scenes …
Mike, Mike, Mike. You picked with a rape sex, heavy on the rape in this case.

Its people like you that encourage the Westboro Baptist church and Fred Phelps.

For those not familiar with the 1970′s classic “deliverance” it’s a movie about men in the rugged wilderness down south getting butt raped by homosexual redneck hillbillies. The seventies were weird I tell you, just weird. Also the star of the movie, Burt Reynolds, had a really cool bow and arrow. If you’ve ever heard someone use the phrase, “squeal like a pig” it’s from this movie.

Macho 1970 men, with butt secks

I used an elaborate five camera shooting technique here that I think helps show … screw it I used a point and shoot. I really got lazy here but in my defense, how graphic did you people want an Army Guy having sex with a dinosaur to be?

I know, very, very graphic.

Tough pervs … this is what I came up with. That scene from the 1972 film deliverance.
It’s a very accurate photo of the actual scene in the movie, for very small quantities of very accurate.

Somehow the look on the dinosaur's face is interesting

Lasers!:
Finally the tough one, Bob’s request for the stay puffed marshmallow man from Ghost Busters. Anyway as much as I’d like to get flaming-melted marshmallow all over Rick’s BMW hood, creating an actual Stay Puft man from actual marshmallows is REALLY friggen hard. I spent at least $1.69 and this is the result.

I made this for my art class and got an F ...

The people that made this had a budget for special effects that exceeded $1.69

But, thanks to the magic of Photoshop you can insert what is likely copyrighted material and make ‘friggen laser beams’ and stuff. I spent like five minutes using the magic wand tool (hehehe that always cracks me up) trying to delete the back ground around Mr. Stay Puft before I got bored and started making, “lasers” which was TOTALLY cool.
Thus, “Army Men versus the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man on the hood of Rick’s BMW — with lasers”

Don't cross lines ... which is a quote from Ghostbusters, not gay porn oddly.

Still taking suggestions by the way for more ideas of Army Guys vs. Dinosaurs on Rick’s BMW … so please leave a comment and I’ll work it in …

* To all my gay friends, I’m sorry. I fully understand that the scene in the movie wasn’t “gay sex”, or gay, or even any sort of representation of two same sex couples in a loving relationship. It’s a dumb joke and shouldn’t be taken for anything else. Same sex rape, actually any rape, which occurs in prison (or anywhere), I fully understand, is about power and nothing else. I’m sorry but damnit it made me laugh.

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